


Love, etc

by the_kats_pyjamas



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mail Order Brides
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 06:05:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_kats_pyjamas/pseuds/the_kats_pyjamas
Summary: Katniss offers herself as a Bride for Sale. Peeta, of course, can't let this happen. Can they possibly fall in love under these circumstances?





	1. Chapter 1

Peeta woke before the sun, as he always did. He stretched in bed, feeling entirely too luxurious than he had any right to, and admired the sunlight streaming through his open window, illuminating the languidly floating dust. Whenever he’d admired this phenomena in earshot of his mother, she’d quickly remind him that if he bothered to clean his room occasionally, there’d be no dust to catch the sun. Peeta couldn’t help but note the metaphor. She had a way of stifling the good in any situation. He shook his head to clear his mind of any thought of his mother. Of course she was always there. On the periphery. Waiting to make sure his thoughts weren’t too positive. Too happy. Too carefree. But with careful compartmentalization of his thoughts, he could somewhat easily keep her away. Particularly today.

Because today, blessedly, he didn't have to work. So he took his time rousing. After laying in bed for close to an hour, contemplating the exact ratio of white to yellow that would create this actual sunlight in his room, he rolled shirtless out bed. He took his time showering. Breakfast was a leisurely affair. He toasted two slices of his family's prized sourdough; three days old, but still tasty. He prepared a mug of strong, sugarless tea; bitter and biting just as he liked it. His brother had once joked that he liked his tea like he liked his women – strong and dark. Peeta hadn’t laughed, and Rye hadn’t made the joke again. He fetched the daily paper from the porch - a seemingly wild luxury from more abundant times that his father had yet to give up.

It was a pleasant ritual: the act of readying oneself for the day ahead. As he savoured the sweet marmalade on his toast, he was feeling relaxed and contented. So when the world shifted on its axis, the sense of disorientation was all the more palpable. His guard was down, his defences were lowered, when he turned the page of his father's terribly extravagant newspaper and found her face staring defiantly up from the Brides for Sale pages. Her. HER.  
The only 'her' who had ever mattered. 

All his life, Peeta had been an expert at hiding his emotions. Anyone abused by their mother learns this skill early. Now, though, he was at a loss to keep anything in check. He noted in a detached kind of way the cold sweat creeping down his neck and making its way towards his heart, the uncontrollable tremor that was slowly taking over his whole body, the painful knot that had instantly formed in his gut.... The physical manifestations of his horror were profound and instantaneous. He recognised the dull, black ache that descended on his insides whenever he thought of her, but this was a new kind of pain.  
This was laced with fear.

The Brides for Sale movement had come about as a kind of throw back from the Capitol. There it had been a game show, a reality television farce which saw men bidding for women, women who proved their wares in a serious of challenges. It started as entertainment, a laugh, and quickly escalated into a disturbing show of status. Only the elite, the very richest of the rich, could afford the highest scoring woman. The practice eventually filtered out to the Districts, but when men are poor and women are desperate, the practice very quickly became a bastardized version of itself. Only the most desperate Seam women, the ones with no other options or prospects, offered themselves up for sale. Because the only men willing to buy were the ones seeking to buy property, not companionship.  
Most Twelve women were sold to other districts. Men in Twelve, even merchants, barely had enough to feed themselves, much less take on a wife and pay her buying fee. Most brides ended up in One or Two. Sometimes Four.  
And yet.  
Stories of their demise would make their way back to Twelve. They’d end up dead. Or beaten to within an inch of their lives. Or alcoholic. Addicted to morphling. Inevitably. They were abused. Broken. The Capital had made monsters of their men, and their men had made shadows of their women. Hopelessness has a way of enticing even the proudest of people.  
And so.  
Even as Peeta contemplated his options, he knew what he was going to do. He thought about Erinn. She was a girl from the Seam. Plain, but not unappealing. She sold herself. She was twenty-three. Unmarried. Presumably she figured her options had run out. She left for Two on a hot summers day, full of hope. Optimistic.  
She returned a year later.  
So her parents could bury her.  
This was not unusual or scandalous. Nay, it was expected.  
So there was no option. Not really.  
The moment he saw those eyes, that face, that barely noticeable scowl. It was done.  
He made his way solemnly to the phone. Reverently, or cautiously, it was difficult to tell, he picked up the receiver.  
“I’d like to place an order,” he said.


	2. Chapter Two

Buying a woman turned out to be alarmingly simple. It had been a far bigger headache buying a new U-bend for the sink at the bakery. There was no background check, no inquiry to determine his motives. The deed was done, the date was set in a matter of mere minutes. He would meet her at the Justice Building at 2pm tomorrow. After the ceremony, they’d receive their housing assignment and be on their way. And that was it.   
After he’d thanked the operator and hung up, he’d sat heavily in the kitchen chair and sighed. He’d let out a mirthless laugh at the dark humour of the situation. Tomorrow he would marry Katniss Everdeen. It was the deepest, wildest, most painful dream of his soul come true. But the circumstances were nightmarish. She would think him pathetic at best, fear him at worst. She would resent him for being someone she knew, of that much he was certain. He couldn’t claim to know Katniss intimately, but he knew without a doubt that she was proud. Admitting that she couldn’t keep her family fed can’t have been an easy pill to swallow. And he admired her bravery all the more for it.   
But as he sat, his now cold tea forgotten, he couldn’t ignore the tiny, warm, glowing ember of hope that burned in his heart. Because at the crux of it all, Peeta was a hopeful man. He believed in love, in good triumphing over evil, in happily ever afters, in karmic forces at work in the world making sure everything happened as it should. Maybe this would be their love story. Maybe this was how the forces of the universe were bringing them together. His life had made him fearful, withdrawn, oblivious to his own self-worth. Her life had made her cold, wary, afraid of love. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened any other way. The tiny ember glowed as he allowed himself to imagine what their life could be.   
He was lost in a fantasy of dark haired, blue eyed children running about the bakery when he realised. His mother. He would have to tell his mother. She would disown him. He was as sure of that as he was sure of his own name. Paying money, bakery money, to marry a woman from the Seam. Well, there was simply no greater embarrassment his mother could suffer, he was sure. But his father would be able to talk her down. Let him continue working in the bakery, at least.   
By some miraculous twist of fate, both his brothers had found other work – Bann pushing paper in the Justice Building and Rye with his wife’s family at the blacksmith’s. Peeta was by far the most talented baker of the three boys, so this worked in everyone’s favour. There was certainly not enough work at the bakery to support three families, as well as Mr and Mrs Mellark, so Peeta would have been left to seek work of his own had his brothers not found themselves otherwise employed. The bakery itself would still be left to Bannock, as the oldest, but Peeta presumed he would always have a job there, as the only brother who could actually bake. So surely his mother would be able to see past her fury and mortification and allow him to continue working there, for everyone’s good.   
He let out a huff of laughter again. What a turn this day had taken. From gazing at sunbeams to buying a bride and fearing his livelihood. But the course of one’s life can change forever in mere minutes. Moments. And the ticking of the clock is only counting us down to this inevitability. He knew that as well as anyone.  
So he stood. Squared his shoulders. And walked out the door.  
When he reached the bakery it was quiet. Unusually so, for this time of day. He thanked the forces for their quiet work in the universe and headed into the kitchen to seek out his father.  
“Dad,” he called as he found him cleaning the spare oven. “Slow day?”  
“Yeah, ‘fraid so,” he replied, his voice muffled from inside the oven. “Thought I’d get a head start on this mess.” He withdrew himself and peered around at Peeta. “What’re you doing here, anyway? It’s your first day off in weeks, figured you’d be in bed till noon.”  
“Actually, I needed to talk to you about something.” Peeta rubbed his nose, a nervous tell that rendered him hopeless at cards.  
His father raised his eyebrows, sensing the weight in his son’s voice.  
“Katniss Everdeen was in the Brides for Sale page this morning.” He swallowed. “Dad, I – I bought her.”  
His father gaped at him. “Peeta, what in the hell?” He finally said.   
“Dad, I couldn’t. I couldn’t let her go to someone who might hurt her. I couldn’t. I’m so sorry if I’ve embarrassed you and Mum, but I couldn’t. There’s nothing else to say, that’s all there is. I’m so sorry. I hope you understand. I’m so sorry if I’ve embarrassed you.” He was rambling, but at least if he kept talking, he wouldn’t hear what his father had to say.  
“Peeta, stop. Peeta!” He held up a hand to stop him talking. “Just gimme a second here, son.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Okay,” he said.  
“Okay?”  
“Look, it’s not the best news I’ve heard all day, and your mother’s going to have a stroke. But I understand, kiddo. Fuck if I don’t understand. I’d have been broken hearted, too. If some horrible fuck from One had bought her. Okay. It’s okay. We’ll sort this out. Fuck. Okay. Let me tell your mother, though. Fuck. And don’t you be here when I do, okay? Shit, Peeta. It’s gonna be okay, though, kiddo. It’s gonna be okay. Don’t you worry about a thing.”  
Peeta’s heart swelled and that tiny ember grew as he left the bakery. Maybe it would be okay.   
Every once in a while, his father came through.


	3. Chapter 3

Once again, Peeta rose with the sun. But this morning, the same sunbeams he’d casually admired the day before seemed to be setting the scene for a day of significance. Today, his biggest dream and his worst nightmare would come true. He was marrying Katniss Everdeen. But he was essentially forcing her to do it. He’d dreamed about proposing to her, of course he had. Anyone who loves someone from the age of five dreams about the day he asks her to marry him. None of these fantasies, however, involved a woman named Esra asking if he’d like a receipt for his purchase.   
“Christ,” he muttered as he buttoned his best dress shirt. He didn’t even know what this meant, only knew it was a residual curse left from before the Dark Days. And it seemed to fit. He was dressing to marry the woman of his dreams, the love of his life, but did she even know whom she was marrying? Were the brides privy to that information?  
He leaned over to adjust the strap on his leg brace. Somewhere along the way, he’d gotten into the habit of sleeping with it on, despite the discomfort. He wasn’t a man prone to sulking, but he found that if putting his brace on was the first thing he did when he woke, it tended to dampen his mood a little. If he could roll out of bed, almost as spritely as ever, he was given brief respite before being reminded with every painful step of the accident that rendered him crippled. So he’d slept in it last night, and after wearing it all morning, the skin around his knee was feeling raw and tender. Loosening the strap would help a little, but he knew it would still smart by the end of the day.  
He finished dressing and checked the time. He wanted to be early, he didn’t want her to be left waiting, wondering, so he left his little room above the bakery at one o’clock.  
He reached the Justice Building at 1:08.  
Swallowing thickly, he made his way up the stairs. It was slow going, and as he made his way up, step by careful step, he allowed himself to feel. It wasn’t pretty: Heartbreak that he was marrying the woman he loved in such dire circumstances. Fear that she would resent him, fear him, hate him, pity him. The deepest regret and shame that he never had the guts to tell her how he felt. And there… After that. That ever present reminder: “You’re not good enough for her anyway, cripple.” He tried to shake the painful voice away, but it was relentless. Of course. If his own mother couldn’t love him, what hope did he have?  
After a moment he realized he was shaking. Well. This wouldn’t do. He supposed he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thought. Or maybe he just sucked when it came to her.  
But now was not the time for cowardice, or self-doubt. Now was the time to own his choice and make the best of it, and somewhere in a distant future, look back on this day as the one that changed everything. So he lifted his chin a little higher, rolled his shoulders a little lower and strode inside.  
He located the Office of Marriages and Housing Assignments easily enough, and after registering, there was nothing to do but wait. He used his tried and tested method of calming himself – mentally reciting every bakery recipe he knew, but that didn’t stop his good leg bouncing uncontrollably, or the unconscious flexing and clenching of his hands. And then, as he measured out the ingredients for their dark raisin and nut loaf (the significance of which he would later realize), she was there. As she stood there looking so lovely in her blue Reaping dress, all his Katniss-related insecurities seemed entirely justified. Was it possible for Brides to refuse their buyer?  
He stood awkwardly and watched each emotion of her reaction proceed across her face in turn. She’d always been so easy to read. Recognition, surprise, confusion, and finally, ah, there it was: anger.  
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, not un-coldly.  
He answered by opening and closing his mouth stupidly and gesturing around. Her frown deepened.  
“No,” she said, shaking her head quickly.  
Peeta blinked, struggling to find something to say. Although he had entertained this possibility just a moment ago, the reality of it had rendered him mute.  
“Why would you do this?” she finally asked, with more incredulity than confusion.  
“I – I want to,” he stammered back, cursing his usual eloquence for failing him now.  
She scoffed. “Oh, come on. This is the goddamn bread all over again. You’re just trying to play the hero.”  
“Now, hang on a second,” he began, regrouping as he finally found his voice. Not only was he startled at having heard so many words come out of Katniss’ mouth at once, he was also genuinely hurt that she saw his childhood act of kindness that way. “I don’t think that not wanting to watch someone die equates to ‘playing the hero.’ I didn’t want you to die then and I don’t want you to die now; forgive me for causing offense.”  
He matched the scowl she was giving him with one of his own. Sarcasm wasn’t usually his style, but that had stung. And of course he should have realized that the biggest obstacle in this situation was Katniss’ pride. He supposed he should be grateful that she perceived this as an act of charity. He supposed that it was far preferable to be seen as someone with a hero complex, infinitely more preferable, than believing he was a cruel man buying a woman he could own, or a lonely man desperate enough to pay for companionship. And yet, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. But how could he explain to her that what she saw as charity was, in fact, an act of blatant selfishness? He couldn’t bear to see her mistreated. He couldn’t bear the not knowing. He was the one who would never, ever recover if she lost her life, as so many brides before her had. He knew that she would despise being bought by someone she knew, her former classmate. He knew that, he knew the depth of her pride, and yet he still did it. For himself. It was as far from charity as it was possible to get. But how could he explain that to her without admitting the completeness of his love for her? He couldn’t, and he certainly wasn’t ready to drop that little bombshell, and so he grasped onto that nugget of hurt feelings because it was easier to hold on to than everything else he was feeling. And he scowled. And she scowled back, and who knows how long the scowl-off would’ve continued if Esra hadn’t called them.  
“The officiant’s ready for you now,” she called in a bored voice.  
Peeta felt his face immediately soften. He watched, heart pounding, as Katniss squeezed her eyes shut. Endless seconds passed until she finally huffed and threw her hands in the air.  
“Well, come on, then,” she sighed. And although it was a far from perfect moment, Peeta couldn’t help but bite back the smile that tugged at his lips. The little ember was back.


	4. Chapter 4

After the ceremony, if one could call it that, Peeta felt the agonising awkwardness of the situation descend upon him again. The damp smell of the room was oppressive, and his throat parched angrily, desperate for water. He swallowed and turned to face his new wife, but she was already hurrying off to the reception desk. He blinked and followed her. 

He caught up to her in time to hear Esra say brusquely, “Here are your new identification papers.” 

As he reached the desk, the grey faced woman flashed him a pained smile and handed him a stack of papers. “This is your marriage certificate and your lease agreement. Please sign as indicated.” He took the proffered pen and obliged, noting that Katniss wasn’t required to sign anything. She’d signed the contract agreement earlier, and apparently that was as far as her rights extended. He passed them over to the waiting hand of the receptionist and was thanking her when Katniss interrupted.

“The buying fee?” she demanded curtly.

Esra regarded her with thinly veiled contempt as she handed her an envelope. Peeta couldn’t help the flush of embarrassment that warmed his face, and he wished desperately that Katniss could have known that his embarrassment was caused by the existence of a fee to ask for, not that she had asked for it. She snatched it from the stubby fingers of the receptionist and immediately made for the door.

“Thank you!” Peeta called as he took the keys she held out and followed Katniss. “Katniss! Wait!” 

She slowed and stopped, not turning around. When he caught up to her, he saw that her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily, her features tensed and stressed. Not for the last time, his heart broke a little. She opened her eyes and looked at him slowly.

“I have to make a quick stop then go to my mother’s and let her know,” she said. She looked away, then quickly back at him, a false smile briefly stretching her lips. “If that’s okay, of course.”

Peeta frowned at her. “Katniss,” he said slowly. “Your mother doesn’t know?”

She didn’t answer, but hurried off down the hall again. He cursed and took off after her. Should he go with her? He panicked as he followed her lithe form down the stairs and through the yawning doors of the Justice Building. What was the right thing to do here? Present a united front, a show of solidarity, when she told her mother? Or let them have the conversation in private? 

“Katniss!” he called again. By now she was practically running across the square, and with his bad leg, the space between them was quickly growing. Struggling against the protesting ache, he strained to keep up with her, nearly losing her in the crowd until he spotted her dark braid whipping through the door of the apothecary. He frowned and covered the remaining distance, following her inside just a few seconds after. 

The heady, herbal smells of the store assaulted him as soon as he entered, but it was the apothecary’s words that stopped him in his tracks:

“Miss Everdeen, once again, I cannot offer store credit. I wish I could help, but – .“

“I have the money,” Katniss interrupted abruptly, slapping the envelope from the Justice Building on the counter. 

The rest of the encounter was lost on Peeta, as he stood frozen, one phrase whirling around his mind as his blood mimicked the tempo around his pounding heart – “Oh, no.” Realisation washed over him, cold, brutal and crippling. 

Of course. Of course this fierce woman, this warrior of strength and pride and animalistic nurturing love would not have married herself off to ease the burden on her family. If anything, the risk was enormous that she would have been sent away, and they would have been burdened without her – it was no secret that she put the bulk of their food on the table.

Pain bloomed in his fingertips; bizarrely, he had always felt heartache first in the tips of his fingers. He flexed them and interlocked his fingers, bringing them up to his chin and bowing his head. It was an odd gesture, one he often adopted in times of great distress. Although he could never have known it, this was, of course, the whisper of generations long past, the imprint of age old traditions seeping through his blood and his flesh and his being. Of course he couldn’t have known this, but the act had always been oddly comforting. His eyes were tightly closed in this position when he felt her brush past him, breathed in her earthy sent, and he remembered himself.

“Katniss,” he heard himself plead as he pushed through the door after her. “Let me go with you.”

She fixed him with a scowl and nodded once, taking off again immediately. He noticed, in his haze, that she had slowed her pace slightly, and the pain in his fingers seemed to ebb. 

The walk to the Seam was silent and heavy, a thousand things unsaid between them. Katniss held the paper bag of medicine to her chest the entire way, clutching it like a lifeline. Which, he guessed, it probably was. 

When her tiny house came into view, Katniss took off in a run, apparently unable to take the agonizing pace any longer. Thankfully, or regrettably, hearing the exchange that erupted in the Everdeen house didn’t rely on proximity.

“Mother! Here! Give it to her, now!” Katniss’ frantic voice rang out over the empty streets.

“Katniss? How did you get this?”

“Never mind! Just give it to her!”

A pause. Softer. “Oh, Katniss.” Another pause. “What have you done?”


	5. Chapter 5

Peeta remained silently on the porch. The minutes ticked by in silence now; whatever was transpiring inside the Everdeen house was taking place in silence. After some time, registering the pain in his leg, he slid down the wall, stretching his aching leg out in front of him and tucking the good knee up to his chest. He rested his head back against the wall and watched the late afternoon breeze lift and dance the dust of the dirt Seam road.

Eventually she appeared next to him, without a sound, making him start, such was the trance he was in. He looked up at her and registered numbly that she’d been crying. The telltale red eyes and blotchy face looked unnatural on her; he didn’t think he’d ever seen her cry, even as a starved child, helpless in the rain. 

“Would you like to come in?” she asked curtly.

He nodded and immediately regretted his decision to sit. Standing up was a far from graceful endeavour. To his great surprise, Katniss offered her hand to help him. He swallowed his pride and took it, his heart soaring pathetically at the contact.

“Thank you,” he said. She didn’t answer, and he followed her inside. 

She stopped inside the sparse living room, meeting his eyes for the briefest of moments before looking down at her hands. She picked at a cuticle as she spoke. 

“My sister is sick. An infection. I used the buying fee to get her medicine.”

Peeta only nodded. Of course, he’d figured this much himself.

“My mother won’t leave her side, but she’d like to see you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t – I don’t want to impose,” he answered quickly.

“Prim is asleep. She won’t even know.” She was off before Peeta could protest, so he reluctantly followed her to the bedroom.

Prim was barely recognisable. The narrow bed seemed to swallow her thin frame, and her damp skin was as white as the sheets she lay on. Her golden hair stuck, slick with sweat, in strands across her face. The girls’ mother sat next to her, holding her hand.

“Peeta,” she said, looking up with a smile that more closely resembled a grimace. “Thank you. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help you settle into your new home.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Everdeen. I appreciate that.” Merchant hospitality ran deep, apparently, even when sat by one’s daughter’s sickbed. 

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, and a tense silence followed until a sniff from Katniss alerted them to the fact that she was crying again. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and stepped towards her sister. Brushing the wet hair from her forehead, she leaned down and kissed her.

“Goodbye, Little Duck. I’ll be back in the morning. I love you.” She kissed her again and straightened up.

“Katniss,” Peeta whispered urgently, suddenly feeling slightly hysterical. “Stay here. You don’t need to come straight away. Wait till she’s better and come ho – come to the house then.”

She looked for a long moment at Prim, seeming to consider, before shaking her head and pushing past him. 

“I’ll get my things.”

“Katniss,” he pleaded.

“No. Stop.” She held up her hand. She refused to look at him as she spoke. “I don’t accept charity. This is a transaction. I intend to honour my end of the deal. Please. Stop.”

Peeta stared at her, incredulous, then finally nodded once, resigned. Katniss was well known for her stubbornness. 

“Can I help you pack?”

“No, thank you.”

He nodded again and went to wait for her on the porch, wishing Mrs. Everdeen a good night on the way past. The breeze had dropped, now the dusk air was still and balmy. He hadn’t let himself indulge in ‘what if this was real?’ fantasies too often – it was nothing but a black hole of despair – but this time it came unbidden. If this were real, he would take Katniss’ hand as they walked through the district to their home. He would be offer her some measure of comfort in the wake of her sister’s illness. He would be anticipating making love to his new wife. For the first time? He wasn’t sure how traditional Katniss was. Certainly, he’d never heard of her being taken to the Slag Heap. But he never was sure what the nature of her relationship with Gale was, so it was entirely possible that they’d –. He shook his head, cutting off that train of thought before the image appeared in his mind. 

It wasn’t long before Katniss joined him on the porch, all her belongings packed into her hunting bag. Neither one spoke as they set off down the dusty road, the uneven rhythm of Peeta’s heavy footfalls the only soundtrack to their journey. 

As they drew closer to the bakery, Peeta felt himself begin to physically cower. Desperate to maintain his composure in front of Katniss, he tried to steady his nerves by taking deep, slow breaths. He felt her sidelong glances all the same. The bakery came into sight, and he realised that someone was coming down the road towards them.

“Peet!” It was his father. They met at the junction by the cobblers. Mr. Mellark pulled him into a tight hug. “She’s not happy, my boy, not happy at all. This is your stuff.” He gestured behind him to a wagon that Peeta hadn’t noticed him pulling until now. It was piled with clothes and a few sketchpads. He looked at his father in alarm.

“Look, your job’s safe – she’s not stupid – but she is pissed. So pissed. Rye’s gonna cover your shift tomorrow; she just needs a bit of time. You can come back the next day. I’m not saying it’ll be pleasant, but we’ll get there. Okay? You okay?” He gripped Peeta’s bicep and looked at him intently.

“Yeah, Dad. Yeah. I’ll be fine. Thank Rye for me, okay? He covered my shift for me today, as well; I know that’s not easy for him to swing.” He looked awkwardly at Katniss. “Oh, uh, this is Katniss.”

Mr. Mellark smiled warmly. “Of course! Well, uh, welcome to the family!” He gave an awkward laugh. “I best be getting back,” he continued, passing the wagon’s handle to Peeta. He gripped him by both biceps this time. “I love you, son. You take care, huh? See you soon.” He turned to Katniss and gave her a little salute before turning and heading back to the bakery. Peeta watched him go, an inexplicable sadness overcoming him. 

After a beat, he turned to Katniss and gave her a reassuring, if forced, smile. 

He gestured at the road ahead, silently imploring. Just as silently, she acquiesced, and fell into step beside him. Peeta forced his mind to remain blank as they walked. Dwelling on his mother did no good, he had learned that a long time ago. Dwelling on Katniss was similarly effective. It offered him neither courage or acceptance, so over the years, he’d learned to avoid thinking about her. This seemed the wisest course of action in this moment, never mind the fact that she was walking beside him. 

Blankness carried him from the bakery to their assigned home. As they crossed the threshold, he allowed himself to register their humble dwelling. A living room, kitchen, bathroom and two bedrooms were theirs to call their own. It smelled strange, unfamiliar, Peeta noticed. He wondered how long it would take to smell like home. Home, to him, had always smelled of rising yeast and spicy cinnamon. But he knew that most homes simply took on the scent of their occupants. He wondered what a house belonging to Katniss would smell like. Would that be what “home” smelled like to him now? He shook himself out of his reverie when he remembered that Katniss was standing silently beside him.

He cleared his dry throat. He still hadn’t had any water since the ceremony.

“My father sent some bread.” He gestured to the wagon. “Is that okay for dinner tonight?”

He tried not to notice the way she shifted her weight surreptitiously from foot to foot. The movement was so minute, anyone not paying attention would have missed it, but it was obvious to Peeta.

“Um,” she began nervously. “Actually, I’m not very hungry. I’d prefer to go straight to bed, if that’s okay.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll just make myself a cup of tea.” Basic supplies were provided for the newlyweds in their sparse kitchen. “Would you like one?”

“No, thank you.” She hesitated a moment, then turned abruptly, retreating into the bathroom and closing the door. 

Peeta sat at the kitchen table watching his tea seep, the black flavour of the tea swirling in hypnotic tendrils into the water. 

Although it was difficult to recall now, there was a time when he was confident, cocky, even. He was well liked at school, popular. Considered quite a catch amongst the girls in his year. He’d always been charming, a quality he’d attributed to his ability to talk his mother down. His ability to talk his mother down on occasion, that is. Still. It took remarkable skill. Skill that he was able to apply to other areas of his life, which henceforth made him charming, if not a little manipulative. 

This quality had long gone out the window since the accident, of course. Charming required a certain amount of self-love, and self-love was effectively unachievable when one’s own mother felt no remorse for the crippling accident she herself caused. After a lifetime of belittlement, disregard, negligence and abuse, the accident was the point of no return for Peeta. This was the moment that that blackest of questions: “If your own mother finds you unlovable, how can you expect anyone else to ever care about you?” became unavoidable.

He’d always planned on one day telling Katniss how he felt. After school. After their last Reaping. After her relationship, whatever it was, with Gale ended. 

But then the accident happened. And it became glaringly, achingly obvious that he wasn’t good enough for her. So he accepted that he’d never tell her how he felt. In fact, he accepted that he’d never tell anyone how he felt. That he’d die alone. If his own mother couldn’t love him, he must be truly worthless.

So he’d accepted this as his lot in life. And now here he was. A wife who was repulsed and/or indifferent to him in their bathroom. 

He stirred his tea, the spoon chinking offensively in the quiet. And then, she was there. Standing before him in a threadbare nightgown that had probably been the only one she’d ever owned. Her nipples hard against the thin white cotton, her strong legs exposed beneath the short hem. Peeta stared, speechless, uncomprehending. 

“Let’s go to bed,” she whispered, only just keeping the tremor out of her voice.

At once, he realised what she was implying, and felt the breath leave his lungs. He gaped at her, desperately trying to find his voice.

“No,” he finally croaked, disappearing into the closest bedroom and slamming the door. He slid down it with his face in his hands. “Not like this.”


	6. Chapter 6

Peeta spent a sleepless night staring blankly at the ceiling. Tossing and turning was not a luxury his injury afforded him, although he now intimately understood the expression – restlessness ran bone deep. He was well acquainted with the owl that resided in the oak next door, its mournful symphony had provided a lonesome accompaniment to his misery. When the sun finally began inching its way across the coarse rug beneath the bed, he found his courage and rose to face the music, such as it was. 

As he padded, barefoot and awkward, down the cold concrete hall, looking from room to room, he realised he must have dozed off in the early hours of the morning. Katniss was nowhere to be found, and he’d certainly not heard her leave. He refused to let panic grip him, reasoning that she must surely have gone hunting. 

Instead, he busied himself with unpacking his things and preparing breakfast – plain sliced bread and tea was all he could muster; the Capitol’s generosity fell short of butter and marmalade. He was setting the tea to steep on the stove top when Katniss burst through the door, all indignant fury and barely disguised rage. Peeta faltered. He’d expected cool indifference, this obvious anger left him rattled.

She strode past him without a glance and threw three sorry looking squirrels on the counter top. Pulling out her hunting knife, she began angrily tearing at the fur as Peeta watched, feeling more than a little intimidated. 

“Katniss,” he began, his voice hitching. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Katniss, I wanted to apologise for last night. I was melodramatic and rude, and I’m sorry.”  
When she didn’t answer, he took a step closer to her. “I just – I think we were both – are both – feeling pretty overwhelmed by this situation, and I don’t think we should put more pressure on ourselves than is – than is necessary. There’s no rush.”

He watched her furiously ripping at the squirrels, waiting for some sign that she was listening. When none was forthcoming, he forged ahead.

“I know how you feel about honouring the contract, but honestly.” He shrugged slightly, searching for the right words. “You’re not going to do me any favours by doing something neither of us are comfortable with. And we’d both be uncomfortable, you know that. We barely know each other.” It was true. As much as he’d spent the better part of his life observing her, he knew he didn’t actually know her. She continued to ignore him, and Peeta felt frustration rise in his veins. 

“Katniss, please understand that I would’ve been mortified. I’ve,” he paused, collecting himself before continuing in a rush. “I’ve never done – done that before, and to do it for the first time under those circumstances would have been awful for me.” There it was. Not his deepest secret by a long shot, but not exactly a source of pride for him, either. Finally, she paused. She regarded him with cool steel eyes.

“Fine, Peeta,” she replied after a moment. “Let me know when you’re less mortified.” 

Ah. There it was. The indifference he had anticipated. But then that begged the question: If she regarded him with indifference, who had inspired the anger? Confused, he turned back to the tea. 

After a breakfast eaten in pained silence, Katniss announced that she was going to visit Prim and left without another word. Peeta stared at the door long after she closed it behind her. What had he been expecting? Well, a little graciousness on her part, he had to admit. But then, just as quickly as the thought entered his mind, he realised it was wrong. Gratitude was a dangerous game for someone like Katniss – it invited pity and charity, and she would never tolerate these being imposed upon her. If her husband was a cruel man, she’d be able to cling to her pride like a talisman. She’d never have to pretend that the marriage was anything but a business arrangement. A means to an end. A transaction. The fact that her husband was a former classmate and not, he hoped, an asshole, complicated things for her. What would it cost her to be friends with him?

Sighing heavily, he stood to clear breakfast. It was only the second day. Of course it was going to start out terribly. How could it not? He had to keep his head up and remember that every awkward moment, every painful silence was part of the process. They needed this to get to the other side. 

With that thought in mind, he decided to visit the market. He had planned on avoiding this for another day; he was sure the entire District knew by now and he doubted his fragile fortitude could handle the stares and whispers. But a hot meal would surely help them both to feel more at home, so he’d make them a squirrel stew for supper, and maybe they’d talk a little. He’d ask her about Prim, maybe encourage her to share some stories about their childhood. His father once said that he could coax conversation out of a stale loaf of bread. If that skill was ever going to come in handy, it was now.

When he reached the market, he immediately realised it had been a bad decision. The stares were blatant, the whispers audible, and he was certain the snort of laughter he heard from a couple of aisles over was at his expense. But now he was here, he couldn’t very well run home with his tail between his legs, so he lifted his chin and focussed on the task at hand. 

He was scouring the sweet potato bin for the least mouldy specimens when he overheard his mother’s name. 

“Dina must be just dying of embarrassment, the poor thing,” simpered a high-pitched voice littered with put-upon Capitol inflections. “I mean, did you hear about that Seam boy, you know, the washer woman’s son? Apparently, he was making a huge fuss, ranting and raving about how she should’ve married him. She just stood there and took it, Dafney said, daft girl. Everyone knows they were together, but clearly she had set her sights on marrying up!” She and her companion tittered stupidly.

Peeta felt the soft flesh of the almost-off vegetable give as his fist closed around it. Willing himself to calm down, he placed the bruised sweet potato in his basket and made towards the till. He wasn’t close to finished shopping, but staying was out of the question. He quickly payed his bill and escaped into the relative anonymity of the streets.

Walking home, he allowed himself to consider what had transpired. He figured he understood the source of Katniss’ earlier rage now, and for that he was grateful, but the thought of her being distressed or in an uncomfortable situation negated any relief he felt. He refused to acknowledge the bitter jealousy that had arose upon hearing confirmation that she and Gale were, indeed, a couple. It was unwarranted and unhelpful, so he pushed it down into the part of his heart reserved for harbouring such thoughts, and carried on, as he always did.

But although he was adept at suppressing emotions, Peeta was terrible at shutting down the storm of thoughts that swirled tumultuously about his mind. By the time he’d reached their home, he’d examined every option, considered every possible fallout, and imagined every resulting outcome. And he knew, quite simply, that this arrangement wouldn’t work.

So when he walked through the door and found Katniss on the armchair untying her boots, he didn’t hesitate. 

“Katniss,” he said solemnly, “I think you should invoke the Imminent Danger Clause.”


	7. Chapter 7

Confusion and irritation coloured Katniss’ features as she looked up at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said in answer as he sank into the chair across from her and buried his face in his hands. 

He felt her eyes on him, the silence suffocating. Finally, she spoke.

“Are you always this dramatic?”

He looked up sharply, surprised. He opened his mouth to response, then closed it again, unsure. If he was honest, no, he wasn’t always this dramatic. His go to reaction in any tense situation was to square his shoulders, smile, and carry on. But then, they weren’t talking about any tense situation. Any tense situation might be a dealing with his mother, placating a difficult customer, diffusing a fight between his brothers. No, this was nothing like that. This was paying to marry the woman he’d loved his whole life, only to find out that she wasn’t interested in the marriage, just the payment, and she was, in fact, in love with another man. He felt he reserved the right to be a little dramatic, for once. Stoicism be damned.

When he made no move to answer her, she continued. “If that clause is a real thing, I’m fairly certain it doesn’t apply here.” She finished removing her boots and stood to place them in the mudroom. Peeta followed her movements, frowning.

“You didn’t read the contract?” he asked.

She shrugged in response, not meeting his eyes. “What would be the point? Nothing in it would’ve changed anything.” 

She picked up the basket that he’d left by the door on the way in and brought it to the kitchen. She began to methodically unpack the meagre groceries and put them away, employing careful consideration before allocating each item. Peeta wondered if she was this deliberate in everything she did, or if she was merely trying to drag out the process for something to do. He watched her for a few moments, then sighed and stood up.

“Katniss, the Imminent Danger Clause was added to the contract to give brides an out. If she feels physically threatened by her husband, she can back out of the marriage and repay the fee within six months. There’s no questions asked, no proof necessary.” He scoffed darkly. “But the offer only stands for the first month.”

She glanced quickly at him over her shoulder as she placed a single brown onion, just so, in the pantry. She raised her eyebrows in question. The words never left her lips, but Peeta heard the question clear as day. “And?” she seemed say.

“Maybe it would be better for both of us. I wouldn’t hold it against you, you could pay me back so you would’ve have to worry about owing anyone, you and Gale could be together, you – “

“What?!” she spat suddenly, finally giving him her full attention. “Gale and I??” She was facing him with her hands on her hips, and he felt the full force of her sudden anger. He faltered slightly before answering her.

“Yes, well, I mean, I know he was really upset when he found out, and I guess I don’t really blame him. If my girlfriend – “

“I am not his girlfriend!” she snarled, emphasising the word ‘not’ by slamming the pantry door closed. “I never have been, and I told him many times that I never would be. If he has a problem with my choices, that has nothing to do with me!” She glared furiously at Peeta as if daring him to argue. 

“Hey, hey, easy now,” he began.

“I’m not a horse!” she snapped, crossing her arms and glowering at him.

“Sorry, sorry, I was just trying to – .“ He paused. Trying to what? Calm her down? As he would a horse. Not that there were many horses in District Twelve, but occasionally the Peacekeepers would use them. And that was exactly how they spoke to them. He cursed himself and tried again.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I was wrong to assume about you and Gale. And I really am sorry that – if – the two of you had a fight. I know that you’re very close. And friends are important.”

Katniss’ scowl softened ever so slightly, so he continued. 

“But irrespective of your relationship with Gale…. Katniss, I have to be honest. I thought that you decided do this because – “ Christ, she was going to hate hearing this – “because you needed the security.” Her scowl deepened again. “I thought that a marriage was what you wanted, if I’d known that you just needed the buying fee to pay for Prim’s medicine…” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Katniss, I would’ve figured something else out. I would’ve loaned you the money. Free squirrels for a year, I don’t know. But this…. I wouldn’t have done it, Katniss. So we both, we both need an out. I can’t be married to someone who resents me. Or even to someone who’s indifferent to me. I spent my entire childhood experiencing the ramifications of that, I’m not going to experience it in my adulthood as well.” 

Her mouth was slightly open as she listened to him, her eyes a little wider than usual, and he realised that she was seeing this situation from his perspective, for the first time ever. He was glad. Did selflessness at the expense of other people equate to a weird form of selfishness? He wasn’t sure. But his defences softened immediately at her expression. She wasn’t manipulative or taking advantage, she was merely desperate and perhaps a little clueless and emotionally stunted. Certainly he could forgive her for that.

“So I propose, for both our sakes. If either of us are still uncomfortable after a month, we call it a day.”

She stared at him in silence. “A month isn’t a very long time, really,” she finally said softly.

“No, I suppose not. But it’s all we’ve got.” They regarded each other for a moment. “Deal?”

She nodded imperceptibly. “Deal.”

“Okay.” He made his way into the kitchen and began assembling ingredients on the counter. Once everything was in order, he looked at her dramatically, intertwined his fingers, stretched out his arms and cracked his knuckles. Picking up a knife and greyish leek, he smiled lopsidedly and said, “One month to prove I’m not repugnant. Here goes nothing.” He began chopping, and felt, for the first time, the heart swelling, stomach dropping sensation that he would come to associate with making Katniss smile.


	8. Chapter 8

Peeta woke the next morning with a much lighter heart. Their dinner the night before had still been quiet and for Peeta, mostly painfully awkward, but the coldness had thawed, and Katniss’ silence seemed less to do with sullenness and more to do with genuine shyness. Or simply a quiet disposition. As someone who’d relied all his life on wit and charm to navigate the nuances of all kinds of society, the concept of ‘comfortable silence’ was a foreign one. He’d finally reigned in his panic and tried to simply enjoy her presence when she’d coughed, and Christ! Was she coughing to break the awful silence or was she working up the courage to say something or did she, in fact, have a tickle in her throat? He’d decided then and there that comfortable silence was overrated and he’d spoken for far too long about the salt shortage in the district and how they’d been managing without it in the bakery. 

“Extra herbs, that’s the secret. I’ve always thought that the right balance of herbs is the sign of a really great baker. Anyone can throw in a pile of salt or sugar and come up with something that tastes good. But herbs give a more subtle flavour and their usage requires a more knowledgeable cook.” He’d swallowed and tapped his spoon nervously on his bowl, aware he sounded a bit ridiculous. Chancing a glance at Katniss, he’d realised she’d had a faraway look in her eye. 

“My father once said something similar,” she’d said quietly, as she’d spooned the last of the stew into her mouth. She’d stood and taken her bowl to the sink, rinsing it and placing it in the dish rack. 

“He was a wonderful cook.” She’d said it to her reflection in the black window above the sink, but Peeta could have wept at the revelation. A real, personal insight into her life was a greater gift than he could’ve hoped for, and he’d hesitated before he’d asked:

“What was your favourite thing? That he made for you?”

She hadn’t looked away from the window when she’d replied. “Strawberry jam. It only happened once. He gathered too many to trade. We didn’t have any sugar, but it didn’t need it. We ate it on tesserae bread for dinner and I remember thinking, ‘What could be better than this?’” She’d stared at her reflection for a long moment then. Was she seeing her father in her silver eyes? Then she’d turned, bid him good night and strode off into the second bedroom. 

Peeta had remained at the table for some time, at once bemused and humbled by her momentary openness, saddened by the obvious depth of her grief and guiltily elated by her decision to share such a personal memory with him. And although her exit had been brisk, Peeta couldn’t help but feel a cautious optimism, hence the metaphorical spring in his step when he awoke that morning. 

The spring didn’t last long, once he remembered that today he would have to return to the bakery and face his mother. Hastening out of bed, he showered quickly then put the leftover stew on the stovetop to warm. Not a traditional breakfast, certainly, but perfect for the frosty mornings that had descended on them seemingly out of nowhere.

He was just spooning half of it into a bowl when he realised Katniss was standing by the counter. He smiled slightly, wondering if he would ever learn to recognise the sound of her almost silent footsteps. He gestured towards the saucepan and she nodded once. 

They shared another almost silent meal (Peeta: “Did you sleep well?” Katniss: “Yes, thank you.”) before separating to finish getting ready for their respective days. Peeta was rinsing the baking soda they used as toothpaste from his mouth when he heard a shriek. 

His heart leapt into his mouth as he tore from the bathroom, a thousand possibilities racing through his mind. An enraged merchant, furious at the union, come to exact justice. Gale in a jealous rage. His mother. 

The inexplicable image he was confronted with stopped him short. Katniss, wide eyed and terrified, crouched on her haunches on top of the table. And not another living soul in the house.

 

“Katniss, what…?”  
She glanced at him quickly then looked away. He followed her gaze. He frowned, confused. There was a roach cowering by the boots at the mudroom, but that couldn’t be the source of her panic, could it?? He looked from the bug to her and back again.

“Katniss,” he began slowly. “Are you – “

“I don’t like them, okay?” A pink tinge had begun to colour her olive cheeks. “Just shoo it out, or something. Okay?” She refused to look at him.

A wry smile began to tug at his lips. He made a big show of leaning against the doorway and folding his arms nonchalantly. “Are you telling me, that Katniss Everdeen, fearless huntress and provider of the distric,t is scared of a little bug?” He stepped towards the roach and it scurried forwards, causing Katniss to yelp. Peeta looked at her, stunned for a moment, before bursting into laughter.

“I’m not scared of it! I was about to get rid of it, but since you’re here, and it doesn’t bother you, you might as well do it.” She glared at him defiantly and would have appeared suitably unfazed if not for the surreptitious glances she kept throwing towards the mudroom.

Peeta, taking pity, shepherded the offending creature out the door. Stifling his smile, he turned back to Katniss and watched her clamber down from the table. 

She lifted her chin a little higher than was entirely natural as she spoke. “Thank you,” she said and made towards the door, fetching her hunting bag as she went.

“It’s a practical aversion, you know,” she said as she shrugged on her jacket. “They spread disease.”

“Of course,” Peeta replied, eyes sparkling. “Your commitment to quality control in the district is commendable.”


End file.
